Ode to the Bee

There's no better buzzer than the bee.

And the buzz is better the busier the bee.

Wouldn't you be buzzing

if your business was nectar collector?

What a job! The bee was not upset

when informed, "For the rest of your days

you must take flight and visit every flower."

So satisfied is the bee with its lot in life

it builds temples of hexagons

and tithes with honey.

When life is sweet

being busy is a buzz

and it's great just bee-ing.

Enjoy It

Life is a lion

claws razor sharp

and a roar frighteningly loud

its saliva hot and thick

on your upper body and neck

its teeth made to devour you.

Let it.

When its bite finds your soft parts

jaw swiftly ripping your flesh

passionately it loves you, delights in you.

You were made to be devoured.

Let the lion take you in its mighty mouth,

proudly it eats you, choice and juicy,

as a meal more alive than ever in your life.

The lion is real

musculature insurmountable

stomach inescapable.

Be in love with the lion as it is with you

or you will taste sour.

Be in love and allow that life devours.

Xion

Fish me out of foolishness

as I choose beauty's possibility

nectar falling from half turned

up eyes, light from a source

telescopes can't see, a sea

making particle colliders crazed

in envy of a wavelength so

so wild it can only be kept

in poems and myth and the verb

of your curving ass, if the lights

went out the show would only

then begin, the universe would only

then be known even slightly

when your lips move in preface to speech

there is no light but you

the scene other than the seen

heating me inside.

The show's begun when shadows

hint at the power of a ray

stronger than white, hued

with a truth stirring muses, fusings

beyond physics, that is you to me.

Fish me out of rhapsodies

about the pools of your eyes

as I choose diving directly

into that deeper celestial space

where flowers dream of vacationing.

The sun burns out of jealousy

and its heat is just passion

for the company of the truly eternal flame

the imperishable word of God is "I love you."

Pray tell, what is thy name?

A flame of sun

has struck this place

and left its light upon thy face.

The sweetened glow

I chance behold

I'd stay to trace

many hours old.

Not art nor song

has made this charm

but nature's course

has me disarmed.

Go light, go time, go poetry

and leave us two

together be.

Sweeter than wine, your letters

the well of love that's ever renewed

pours dreams mingling one of two.

Pen me a glass and I'll read from you

with euphoria and indulgence

spirit stirred as I sip each word

a bouquet erasing all resistance.

Can I have another glass

until the ship comes in,

from doors when opened gladly pour

the very cask of sweetness?

Write to me when spirit's high

or when it's low, do trust,

for in my hands the smallest drop

is just as caringly cupped.

And then I walked upon the shore

and then the wind came in a gust

and then my hair was all blown wild

and then I looked out on the sea

(some pages whipped by in a rush

an author's thoughts out on the loose)

we often think of joy and hope

as if they must remain remote

but let me tell you what I know

there is no happiness like home

I've been on trips around the world

so many things there are to see

and when the day is all but done

the mind commits to memory

(far away a wave turned white

amid the many blue and green)

the dusk rolls in as if it's late

in a scurrying hubbub

the whirl plays out its simple fate

to know as only moving can

and then the waves were on my lips

and then the sun and I reached out.

I see you seeing me

I want you to know

I like it.

Youth is in your eyes

and looking closely

I see a hidden smile -

have you seen me

see you?

We laughed all night

wine and philosophy

holding me close to you,

and the night was fine

for idiots and lovers.

Weathered wave is morning mist

in ocean's calm erosion

and grays of aging night's last sigh

evaporate to blue...

A swan of the marsh waking to the dawn

glides out on water rippling.

The fall of the swan's good friend

the dew

flicks light on her wings

and she quivers.

Such is a man in the season of his making

like a leaf on a tree gone from green to elation.

Unhinged from the limb as a wing in a glide,

the radiant flyer's a breath full of pride.

Be lively and splendid, be a fire, but yield

to collections of tones that form in the field.

Life in its frolic is fully redeemed

in the breadth of all nature, as part in a scheme.

The bright blend makes music, the colors all play

and dance like an oboe alive for a day.

When life is a chorus, the voices as blood

combine in crescendo like drops in a flood.

That one leaf is harmony sounds to be wrong